


100.5

by daltoneering



Series: Drabbles [3]
Category: Glee
Genre: Fluff, M/M, sick!fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-31
Updated: 2015-05-31
Packaged: 2018-04-02 04:47:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,457
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4046575
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/daltoneering/pseuds/daltoneering
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fluffy sick!fic</p>
            </blockquote>





	100.5

It’s raining outside when Blaine wakes up, so he groans and rolls over to face the other way.

Kurt is absent from their bed, but he can hear the shower running and the soft hum of his husband’s voice slipping under the door. He lets his eyes drift shut, tugs the blanket up higher, and drifts. There’s a tickle in the back of his throat that he doesn’t like the feel of, but he ignores it and lets his mind fall into the haze between dreaming and reality.

He’s woken by a warm, slightly damp hand on his face, and blearily opens his eyes to miles of pale glistening skin and Kurt’s concerned face. He shifts further onto the bed, tugging the towel around his hips, and leans down, stroking over Blaine’s face.

“Honey? Are you okay? You really don’t look very good.”

Blaine is quiet, considers. His throat is starting to hurt a bit now, actually, and there’s a dull pounding in the back of his head. “Mm,” he replies. “Don’t know. Sleepy.”

Kurt lets out a concerned sound and slides off the bed, dropping the towel and pulling on a fresh pair of boxers. Blaine wishes he could appreciate the sight, but frankly all he wants to do right now is fall back to sleep. So he does.

Kurt returns an indeterminate time later, thermometer in hand, and sets a steaming mug on the bedside cabinet. “Open up,” he instructs gently, and Blaine lolls his mouth open, barely even bothering to open his eyes. Wow. He really  _doesn’t_  feel great.

The thermometer is cold and strange in his mouth and he’s glad when Kurt removes it, moistening his dry lips. Above him, he hears Kurt sigh, then feels his hand on his forehead again, soothing him gently.

“What does it say?” His voice is croaking, he can’t form the words properly. Kurt sits down next to him on the bed and he cuddles closer, relaxing into the familiar scent of Kurt’s shower gel.

“100.5. You’re sick, sweetie.”

Blaine coughs out a laugh against Kurt’s side. “Yeah, I could kinda tell.”

Kurt reaches over him and picks up the mug, holding it up so that Blaine can sip it carefully. It’s hot chicken soup (in the back of his mind he remembers Kurt making a batch to freeze a couple of weeks ago, for occasions exactly like this), and he savours the smooth feel of it in his inflamed throat.

When he’s done, Kurt extricates himself carefully from Blaine’s grip and climbs off the bed. Blaine moans disappointedly, but Kurt smooths over his cheek again with his hand. “It’s okay, honey,” he says quickly. “I’m just going to call work to tell them that I’m not coming in today because I have an invalid who needs my care.”

“Nooo, Kurt,” rasps Blaine, voice cracking. “You should go. I’ll be fine.”

Kurt sighs and shakes his head. “Nope, I’m staying. You can’t complain, Blaine. Besides, it’s quiet at the moment, we got the spring line finished last week, so there’s not much to do.”

Blaine knows. He remembers Kurt coming home in the middle of the night, faceplanting on the bed, and leaving before dawn the next morning. He’s certainly glad it’s over. “’Mkay,” he mumbles, rolling over and trying to kick off the blanket where it’s tangled round his feet.

A few minutes later, he feels the bed dip and Kurt slides in behind him, wrapping his arms around his waist and tucking his head against his neck. “She says it’s fine,” he says quietly. “That you’re more important than my work and I should take as much time off as I need.” He pauses. “She’s right, of course.”

Blaine smiles, and does his best to nod, but that soup has made him drowsy and the bed and Kurt are warm and the rain is pattering just softly enough to lull him off to sleep.

*

He wakes up later that evening, coughing, but Kurt is right there with medicine and their box of Disney films. He smiles softly at Blaine, running his fingers through his unruly hair.

“Pocahontas,” Blaine says unprompted, his voice muffled against the pillows. Kurt gets up to put it on, then settles back under the covers with the remote. Blaine turns over so that he can snuggle up against Kurt’s soft grey sweater and falls asleep again fifteen minutes into the movie.

 *

He sleeps fitfully that night, but Kurt is always there with a glass of water or a spoonful of medicine or a hug. The last few hours of the night he’s awake, coughing sporadically, sweaty and gross and too hot. He kicks the covers off every time, but then he gets cold again and pulls them back on.

Kurt doesn’t seem to bothered by his antics, just squeezes tighter around his waist and sleepily whispers  _I love you_ s into the damp skin of his shoulder.

*

The morning dawns bright, rain gone, and Blaine already feels better. His head is clearer and his throat isn’t quite as sore. Still, he’s not 100% alright, and Kurt must have his super-husband powers on because he can somehow tell exactly what Blaine needs. Which, at the moment, is a nice hot bath.

Blaine lies in bed while Kurt draws the bath, looking up at the pale beige lampshade hanging from the ceiling. He’s concerned about missing work, but Kurt had told him that he’d phoned the principal of Blaine’s school and that a sub was being arranged for the next few days.

His husband returns quickly, and scoops Blaine up into his arms, stumbling a little before righting himself. Blaine giggles against his collar and wraps his arms round Kurt’s neck.

He’s lowered down onto the toilet seat, and Kurt helps him undress, immediately chucks the pair of sweats and undershirt he’s been wearing for the past couple of days in the laundry. He gives Blaine a hand to climb into the bath—it’s just the right temperature, bubbly and soothing. Blaine sinks down, arms floating, and lets his eyes drift shut.

Kurt joins him a few moments later, sliding in between Blaine and the tub, and gently runs his hands up and down Blaine’s sides, pressing gentle kisses to his hair. Blaine leans his head back against his shoulder, tucking his nose against Kurt’s jaw, and lets his husband wash him clean.

They lie there for almost an hour, barely speaking or moving, just enjoying relaxing with each other. But then the water starts to get cold and Blaine is horribly pruney, so Kurt pulls out the plug and wraps them both in big fluffy towels.

They watch  _The Lion King_  in bed, Blaine feeling well enough that he finds it in himself to hum along with the songs. Kurt sings properly and Blaine giggles at his impression of Zazu during  _Just Can’t Wait To Be King_.

*

By the next day, Blaine is almost fully recuperated, well enough to be up and making pancakes for breakfast, a special surprise for Kurt who’s still asleep. It’s a Saturday, so neither of them have anywhere to be, and his cough is nearly gone and he’s feeling in love and free and happy. It may also have to do that he has his favourite feel-good showtunes playlist on while he cooks, but there’s nothing wrong with that.

He’s just dishing up the pancakes with butter and syrup when there’s a thump, a groan, then the muffled sound of footsteps. He picks up the plates, moving cautiously towards the bedroom.

“Kurt?” he calls.

He’s just about to try to open the door with both hands full when it opens itself, and Kurt is standing there, in his boxers and bathrobe, dark bags under his eyes and his skin even paler than usual.

“I feel like death warmed up,” he croaks, and Blaine sets the plates down on a small table in the hall immediately, letting Kurt fall forward into his opened arms. “I don’t know how you coped with this.”

Blaine sighs, slides a hand up Kurt’s back, and presses a kiss to the skin behind his ear. “Don’t worry, angel. We’ll get you fixed up in no time at all.”

He guides Kurt back into their bed, makes him take off his robe and tuck his feet under the blanket, and presses a soft kiss to his forehead. Kurt was there for him when he was sick, so now he’s going to be there for Kurt too. After all, it is kind of his fault Kurt’s ill at all.

It’s in times like this when  _in sickness and in health_  really takes on its true meaning. But Blaine wouldn’t have it any other way.


End file.
